


Heat of the Summer

by Kaijuscientists



Series: Fictober 2020 [7]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Dehydration, Fainting, Heat Stroke, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, heat exhaustion, like they're getting there, working though confusing feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: One thing that Nicolò had not become accustomed to was the heat.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Fictober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949386
Comments: 5
Kudos: 184
Collections: SSF





	Heat of the Summer

**Author's Note:**

> 14\. IS SOMETHING BURNING?  
> Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire
> 
> I tried to do this one in past tense, so i'm sorry if any of the tenses are wonky!

Nicolò and Yusuf had become immortal together, then proceeded to kill each other many times. Each death was met with waking up to find the enemy still there, still alive, and the cycle would start again. 

Nicolò was unsure how much time had passed, killing and killing and killing each other on the battlefield, and he would have happily kept going, but then Yusuf stopped, dropped his scimitar, and held up his hands, in what Nicolò assumed was surrender.

He stood there, long sword hefted, ready to strike another killing blow. But the suddenness of this stopped him in his tracks. He dropped his hands, the tip of his sword lodging in the ground, confusion playing out on his face. 

They stand there, covered in dirt and blood and muck, surrounded by the bodies of their fellow soldiers, both wondering what happens next. 

Yusuf had started speaking, in arabic, a language that Nicolò only understood a handful of words in.

“I don’t understand.” Nicolò replied in italian. 

Yusuf started speaking again, this time in a language Nicolò didn’t recognize at all. Seeing confusion still worn on his face, he switched again.

This time though, Nicolò did understand.

“We cannot die,” Yusuf said, speaking greek. “We should leave here.” 

“Go where?” Nicolò asked, he was not keen on going anywhere with this enemy, even if they did share this curse. 

“Away, from the fighting.” Yusuf said, looking southeast. “If we stay here, someone will notice we don’t die.” 

And Nicolò knew he was right, his own people would brand him as a demon or a witch.

“We stay together, and go.” Yusuf said. “We are both the same for a reason.” 

So they did, they abandoned the fight, both their sides, and left together, a shaky truce the only thing keeping them from killing each other again. 

\--------------------

They had been traveling together for months now, and while Nicolò wouldn’t say he trusted Yusuf exactly, he did not hate him, no longer felt the desire to end his life. 

Yusuf had wanted to head south, towards Arabia. They spend the days traveling and the night teaching each other italian and arabic. Learning bits and pieces about the other. 

One thing that Nicolò had not become accustomed to was the heat. The oppressive and overbearing heat of the desert, which was getting worse and worse the further they traveled. 

It hadn’t been too bad to hear Antioch, with the ocean nearby to cool the air, to supply a breeze. But the further south they went, the less green there was, replaced by sand. 

Days ago, they had lost their horses, stolen. They’d continued on foot, planning to find new horses at the next town.

Without horses, they had been traveling without a break for longer than usual, and Nicolò was exhausted. It was too hot during the day, and too cold during the night, and any energy he managed to recoup was stolen by the sun.

He tried to conserve his water, Yusuf warned him to be careful, since it would take them longer to get to the next town to resupply. But he had still run out of water the day before, no matter how carefully he’d rationed it. 

Nicolò was so hot and so thirsty, his brain screamed at him to stop moving, to rest, to find water. But the only water they had was what Yusuf carried, and he wouldn’t allow himself to admit that he’d been stupid.

So he walked in silence, focused on Yusuf‘s back and putting one foot in front of the other, though the shifting sand made it very difficult. 

\---------------------

A hollow thud drew Yusuf's attention, and he turned to find his companion collapsed in the sand.

“Nicolò?” Yusuf asked, falling to his knees next to the Italian. 

He gently rolled him onto his back, having fallen face first into the sand. His face was red, and bone dry despite the heat of the late afternoon. 

Yusuf knew that was not a good sign, not in the desert. He grabs Nicolò’s water skin, and unsurprisingly, found it empty. 

He leaned his head down, placing his ear on Nicolò’s chest, finding the man's heart beating very rapidly. 

He hefted Nicolò up and threw him over his shoulder, carrying him towards the mountains that they had been traveling along. 

He found a small recess in the rocks, not big enough to be called a cave, it would give them sufficient shelter from the sun. 

He gently laid Nicolò down along the wall, the ground already many degrees cooler in the shadows. He wet a small piece of cloth and wiped down the other man's skin, in an effort to help cool him down. 

Yusuf waited for many hours, so long that he had begun to think Nicolò was not going to wake. That he would simply have to wait for him to die and come back. 

Or perhaps, a thought that scared Yusuf more than he thought it would, maybe he only came back if he died by his hands. 

Thankfully that had not been the case, and Nicolò had come too as the sun was setting. 

He felt awful, his mouth dry and sticky as if he had been gargling sand. His skin felt tight and sensitive, his clothes itching uncomfortably. The worst was his head, which ached, pain spiked behind his eyes as he cracked them open. 

He was surprised to find he was twilight, the last he remembered it had still been early. 

Nicolò sat up, much too quickly for his head, and his vision blurs , and Yusuf is there, kneeling in front of him. 

“Easy.” Yusuf said, he placed a steady hand on Nicolò’s shoulders as the man swayed. He reached to the side, not taking his eyes off Nicolò. 

“Drink?” He offered 

Nicolò is so thirsty, before he can even think, he’s grabbed the skin and drank quickly, before Yusuf was able to stop him. 

Suddenly his stomach cramped, and he retched, vomiting up the liquid he had just consumed. He would have collapsed again if Yusuf had not held him up, one arm wrapped around his front. It was the most contact they had shared since they stopped killing one another. 

He vomited and retched much more than he had drunk. When his belly had calmed, he was even more exhausted than before. He stares at Yusuf, this skin tingling where they had touched. 

Nicolò sat back, breathing heavily, staring at Yusuf, this skin tingling where they had touched. 

“Better?” Yusuf asked, he gently rubbed nicolò’s back. 

Nicolò shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, shame crawling up his spine for wasting the water, for being stupid enough to allow this to happen in the first place. For wanting Yusuf to touch him more. He sniffled, tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he started to ramble in Italian, speaking so quickly that Yusuf was only getting every few words.

But he did not need to understand any words to get that Nicolò was upset. 

Yusuf grabbed Nicolò’s face, forcing him to look Yusuf in the eye.

“It is okay.” Yusuf said.

“I wasted it.” Nicolò cried, tears dripping down his cheeks. 

“That’s alright,” Yusuf said, letting his voice drop to what he hoped sounded comforting. “We can get more.” 

Nicolò relaxed minutely after that. 

Yusuf released him, to offer up the water again. “Try small sips, slowly.” 

Nicolò declined at first, pushing it away, afraid he would have a repeat performance, and he did not feel up to that. 

“You need to drink,” Yusuf pleaded, pushing his water skin at Nicolò. “There is no need for you to suffer.”

Nicolò said nothing in response, finding that he couldn’t agree with this man. 

“Please, really, I know we may not stay dead,” Yusuf said, holding the water skin to Nicolò’s lips. “But that does not mean you should have to die.” 

Nicolò looked so sad, it hurt Yusuf’s heart, his eyes red rimmed and watery, this brow pinched. He relented, accepting the drink, Yusuf in control of how much and this time he felt better for it.

“Are you in pain?” Yusuf asked, having always been sensitive to others hurting. 

Nicolò nodded, his head still ached badly, and getting so upset had not helped. 

Yusuf is sorry to hear that. There was nothing he could really do to help that, besides getting him hydrated, but it would be a slow process. 

He reached towards the Italian slowly, giving him time to stop him if he wanted, sliding a hand behind his neck, pulling him towards him.

Nicolò went willingly, tensing up on instinct before melting into Yusuf’s hold, the other man's arms secured around his back. 

He hadn’t been held since he was a child, had forgotten how it had felt. He clutched the back of Yusuf’s robes, his head rested on his shoulder. 

When the sun had set completely, Yusuf guided Nicolò to lay down, his head pillowed in his lap.

Nicolò’s blue eyes looked up at him, silently pleading for comfort he’d been taught to avoid. 

“Tonight, we’ll rest,” Yusuf said, wetting his cloth again he gently wiped down Nicolò’s face and neck. “You’ll feel better come morning, and we will go to the nearest town for water, and to have a break.” 

Nicolò was so tired, it took no time at all for him to nod off, especially when Yusuf stroked his hair.

“This will never happen again.” Yusuf promised.


End file.
